Watch the dancers! There is that aged battle scarred warrior whose movements denote the gliding serpent—the crouching panther—the stalking cougar—the leaping mountain-cat—the onrushing swoop of the aerial eagle. Mark that visiting, stately Nez Perce! Although facing the sunset, decadence shows not on his sinewy form. A nephew of the immortal Chief Joseph, he was young, when, in 1877, he fought and scouted over that thousand mile trail in a mad dash for the Canadian border, a dash unprecedented for brilliancy of achievement, throughout the annals of American warfare. That warclub he so exultingly holds aloft, still retains the sanguine stains of mortal combat.11 His step is that of the conqueror rather than that of the vanquished and fallen.
See those young men! Their slouchy traipsing tells of contact with the meaningless “waltz” and suggestive “hugs” and “trots” of the higher civilization—a vulgarity—a sacrilegious burlesque on an ancient and religiously instituted ceremony. Like other of his tribal cultures, the Indian’s dance is suffering in modifications not always to be desired as morally beneficial.
There! that youth a mere lad! He has attained to the age when he is making his debut, as it were, declaring his intention of taking up the role of man and warrior in his tribe. For this privilege his parents or friends must give liberally in goods and horses, to be distributed among the assemblage at a later hour.
Not the least interesting is the dropping of a solitary feather from his regalia by an unfortunate young dancer. This trophy must not be recovered by the one losing it, but for his carelessness he will be required to pay such fine as the chief in charge may impose. No one touches the object until the conclusion of that particular dance, when the bravest or most noted warrior—the Nez Perce—calling upon his secret protective spirit-powers, proceeds to take it up. This is accomplished only after one or more seemingly futile attempts, amid the excited ki-yiahs of his dancing companions. The feather is retained by the Nez Perce, who then recites some thrilling incident of personal prowess in battle. For this honor, he donates a blanket to the general distribution fund, while the loser of the feather atones for his disgrace by contributing a saddle-pony.
There is a lull in the wild, circling war dance, which is ever measured by many breaks and rests. The old warrior in charge announces a change, which an interpreter renders in English.
“La-siah has spoken. The men will now take women for the final dance. For the benefit of those who do not understand, we will explain the custom, which has come down to us from our ancestors of other snows.
“Every man has this privilege. He can choose any woman from the assemblage to dance with him while the drummers sing the song of goodwill. But he must pay her something; anything he may see fit, as her value. If he likes his partner, he will pay well; but less if he does not care much for her. The woman has the same privilege of choosing and paying. As you circle in this dance, the position of the hand and arm of the man will make known how his heart and mind runs out to the woman. If he wants a maiden for wife, we will know it. He must not do crazy things nor speak the lie with sign-actions. He must do the truth towards the woman. A married man may dance with a maiden for friendship, and the young man may dance with a married woman for friendship. This is a ceremony of friendly good will; where all the distant tribes may meet in harmony; a peace to be regarded well. All may dance, but it must not be mockery. It must be from the heart which should always be true. La-siah has shown you his mind.”
The Chief of the Pend d’Oreille came into the dance space with Cogewea. His warbonnet of eagle feathers was the best, a great billowy mass of swaying plumes. The floating tail piece, extending down his back in long undulating waves, just brushed the ground. His moccasins were decorated with bead work done in symbol, representing many suns of labor by his patient squaw. His broad chest was emblazoned with native wampum, as well as ornaments and beads highly prized. These last, his grandfather had purchased with beaver skins from the Hudson’s Bay Company nearly a hundred snows before. In his hand he carried his te-kee-sten,12 with feathers and strips of fur attached.
The dancing was immediate, with other couples joining the ever lengthening, and widening circle. Moving to the left, the short measured sidestep was a unit, with emphasis on the advanced foot. The music at the drum had changed to a softer melody, suggestive of love-passion, peace and goodwill. Unlike the fierce, stirring notes of war, thrilling with the thunder’s shock of death, there was the murmur of rippling water over pebbly mountain beds; the soughing of summer breezes through leafy groves; the glad carolling of birds at the mating season. And over all was visioned the halo of an ancient glory, when the protective spirits dwelt more near the tribes.
The song died
